


Impatiens

by rhoswenmahariel (salutationtothestars)



Series: Left Hand of the Divine [3]
Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Established Relationship, F/M, Mild Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-10
Updated: 2015-11-10
Packaged: 2018-04-30 23:52:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 784
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5184443
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/salutationtothestars/pseuds/rhoswenmahariel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He never expected Cassandra to come back, harried with the stress of pre-ascension jitters and desperate for a distraction. The Inquisitor welcomes her with open arms, of course, invites her to leave with them for the Frostback Basin in a few days - and just like that, Varric is hit with the familiar sledgehammer of violently loving someone he shouldn’t be able to have.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Impatiens

In the interest of being fair to himself, Varric thinks as he shifts uncomfortably in his seat, it’s been a while.

Nearly two months, technically, even if he’s more inclined to use words like  _ages_  and  _forever_. That’s his cock talking, though, and he knows it. When Cassandra decided she would become Divine Victoria, they had discussed the end of their relationship, both physical and otherwise, in a very practical, adult manner. It wouldn’t be right, she had said, pointedly refusing to look at him.

“I do not want - that is to say, I have enjoyed…” she tried, frowning at herself and clearing her throat. It broke Varric’s heart, but he’d set a hand on her knee, patting her in a forced attempt at amiability. He understood, and he agreed. The Most Holy couldn’t keep a dwarf around as her lover, after all. When she left, that would be the end of it - nothing could be simpler.

He never expected her to come back, some time later, harried with the stress of pre-ascension jitters and desperate for a distraction. The Inquisitor welcomes her with open arms, of course, invites her to leave with them for the Frostback Basin in a few days - and just like that, Varric is hit with the familiar sledgehammer of violently loving someone he shouldn’t be able to have. Like opening the door to a friend you owe money to, he muses, knowing full well they’re going to punch you in the mouth when you let them in.

That’s what brings him to the tavern, anyway, under the pretense of buying Cassandra a drink. He watches her talk and laugh, beautiful and untouchable, one half of a very cordial parting, and wants her more than he ever did before he made the mistake of writing a book, just for her.

At first, he thinks her casual touches are an accident. She lets her hands linger over his when he passes her drinks, leans against his shoulder to make private remarks, and after a half hour of this, neither he nor his cock are sure what to think. They’d said - they’d agreed - but finally, Cassandra puts her drink down on the table and curls her fingers against Varric’s shoulder, murmuring into his ear.

“Could we go back to your room?” she asks, one side of breathless. He wants to jump out of his chair, to show his enthusiastic yes by seizing her hand and turning it into a race, but first, first he has to check.

“Are you sure?” he murmurs, aware of the eyes - eye, mostly - on them both. “I thought you wouldn’t–”

“I would.”

That’s the end of that.

They don’t quite make it to his bedroom before Varric loses his patience. Several doors down is close enough to start, he figures, so he stops walking, drags her down by her collar with both hands, and kisses her. The moan she lets loose flows through him straight down into his feet and back up again, stopping somewhere in the middle of his chest. Maker’s breath, he missed her lips, her hands, the kohl smudged around her eyes - he missed her.

By the time they get inside, his shirt is halfway off, and in her haste to throw away her own, she knocks over a vase. The crash forces them both to pause, chests heaving, and Varric is only slightly ashamed that he knows he won’t stop to clean it up.

“Varric,” Cassandra says, standing in her boots, breeches, and breast band, her cheeks flushed red.

“If you want to stop,” he says, even as his hands ache for the feel of her skin, “we can stop.” He almost hates himself for wanting to be sure, but how could he live with himself if she chose something she would regret?

Cassandra kisses him, this time, sweet and slow rather than frantic. He wants the time to re-learn all the spots on her body he loved best, if he truly forgot them, to lay her down and love her the way she deserves, to worship - but the press in his pants is insistent. If this continues, the chances of it being anything more than a desperate fumble are very, very low.

“Would you consider becoming the Left Hand of the Divine?” she asks. The look on her face says she intended to ask him this later, probably when they weren’t both half-naked and gagging for each other, but she means it. Holy Andraste, she means it.

Varric means to say yes, or at least that he’ll think about it, but instead, what comes out is, “Fuck, Cassandra, get your pants off,” as he bends to bury his face between her thighs.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to Trespasser, the idea of Varric becoming Cassandra's Left Hand officially counts as an AU, but I'm still pretty fond. This was a response to a flower-themed prompt: "impatiens - impatience." You can find me on tumblr at salutationtothestars.


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